Bloody Contributions

When people find out I donate blood, they generally ask, "You donate blood?" which is quickly followed by, "They let you donate blood?!"

It's true - the Portland Red Cross loves to suck my fluids.

Recently, I've noticed that the Red Cross could use some help in their marketing department. They always need more donors, but their trite reasons to donate fall flat on the masses. Free cookies and juice just aren't cutting it anymore.

The following is a list of reasons I donate, and you should too:

The Nursing Staff.
They're young. They're attractive. They're nurses. Hitting on the hemoglobin hotties helps pass the time. Most are female, but I don't discriminate. And if the nurse has a ring on, as most nurses do, I try harder. In order to donate, donors must answer some personal questions. Very similar to speed dating. For example, when the nurse asks, "Have you ever had sex for money?" I casually respond with, "Oh you wouldn't have to pay me." Fifty percent of the time it works every time.

The Exercise Excuse.
Believe me, physical exertion becomes extremely difficult post donation. A short run, climbing the stairs, a rousing game of just-the-tip - all become painstaking feats resulting in cramps and exhaustion. Full recovery time can take a couple weeks, so this provides an acceptable excuse to avoid activity. So sit on the couch, take the elevator, and push that frisky SO off of you.

The Drunk Donor.
The less blood circulating your arteries, the easier it is to get intoxicated. It's simple physics. Be sure to drink water prior to donating, but as soon as you leave that donor's chair, head straight to the local public house and order the highest alcohol contented brew possible. You're gonna be one cheap date tonight.

The Donor Deduction.
Blood donations are tax deductible. Because I donate red blood cells, I cannot sell my plasma. Income from plasma can be as high as $300 per month, multiply that by twelve months, and you're missing out on $3,600 annually. Turbo Tax won't prompt you for this deduction - clearly a simple programming oversight by Intuit.

To learn more about donating blood or to schedule an appointment, visit the Red Cross on the web: http://www.redcrossblood.org/

Follow the Portland Red Cross on Twitter: @RedCrossPDX

xoxo,
ShavedGolf

Spin Wars: Revenge of the Douche

The second installment in the epic saga of Spin Wars. Many have read and can relate to astonishing douchebaggery that is Steve (see Steve the Spin Douche).  Last week the Spin Douche returned with a vengeance.

Spin had been quite enjoyable as of late due to the Spin Douche's absence.  Workouts were peaceful.

Theories of Steve's absence varied - concern/fear/excitement/disbelief that maybe, just maybe, the Spin Douche had stumbled upon my little blog and was too embarrassed to return to a class with a spinmate this vicious and begrudging.  This could never be the case - Steve the Spin Douche is never embarrassed.

My heart immediately sank upon spotting Steve the Spin Douche - my respite from his douchebaggery had been short lived.

On this day, Steve the Spin Douche carried a wide rule, spiral notebook with "P90X" scrawled on the front in sharpie.  It explains a lot.  Spin Douche was proud of the notebook and placed it at an angle at the front of the spin room for display.

Prior to class starting, the Spin Douche let loose with usual unabashed rhetoric including his latest TMI tidbit.  The entire spin class, thirty strong, learned that Steve the Spin Douche was dumped via text message. This over share provided a plethora of visceral responses:

• Who cares?
• No one cares.
• Shocking...
• You date things?

For the next hour we were at the mercy of the Spin Douche and he did not disappoint.   We were treated to the frequent grunts and moans signifying hard work.  He blurted lyrics to songs he only partially knew in true karaoke form.

At some point Steve the Spin Douche lifted his shirt to use as a sweat rag and look at himself in the mirror.  His pudgy tummy clearly affected positively by strenuous spin and yoga classes.  The Spin Douche was proud.  The rest of us cringed.

But it was the end of class that filled me with horror and spurred this installment of Spin Wars: Steve the Spin Douche announced his intention to become a spin instructor.  He explained, with a wide, arrogant grin, that it had been a goal since he began, and he would be taking his instructor test soon to gain certification.  [See initial response here.]

The room began to spin.  I blacked out.

I came to with Steve the Spin Douche in my face preparing to give mouth to mouth.  I haven't been back since.

Subsequently I have found a new gym; dreadful with the knowledge that I'm still not safe. Steve is still out there and his influence is spreading like herpes...

xoxo,
ShavedGolf

Steve the Spin Douche

There's only one thing worse than a mega wedgie and a bad case of swass at spin class - a spin douche.  In this context douche is used to mean an obnoxious embarrassment of a human being (see Urban Dictionary) - Steve the Spin Douche is just that...a douche.  Let me caveat the use of this term by saying I'm not one to take the name of a feminine hygiene product in vain.  I'm certainly no feminist, and I'm no chauvinist either, but this guy is by and far the epitome of all that is douche.

Steve the Spin Douche is a freak show of embarrassing TMI and shrill karaoke.  His attempt at singing along to Ice Ice Baby is as unimpressive and pitiful as his complaints about loneliness and comparing his Valentines Day to a song with the lyrics "just you and your hand tonight."  Steve the Spin Douche's flat and screechy rendition of a Linkin Park song sends a shiver of embarrassment down my back - it causes me to hang my head in shame.

Steve the Spin Douche was fat when he started exercising in my class, and to his credit, he has lost a lot of weight.  Unfortunately his weight loss has only emboldened his douchey behavior.

Steve the Spin Douche pokes a small hole in the cap of every water bottle he brings to class.  When parched, he arrogantly throws his head back, brings the water bottle above his head and squirts water into his annoying pie hole.

The Spin Douche clearly had an attention-starved childhood as he strives for eyes of fellow spin participants.  Obnoxious commentary at high volume is quickly followed by forced laughter at an ever increasing level of loudness.  The Spin Douche uses exaggerated grunts to signify to classmates that he's working hard, and after a difficult set of hills, he'll release a long sigh and an excessive moan - he's spent like a 70's porn star.

I enjoy spin and believe you'd be hard pressed to find another form of exercise that burns as many calories as efficiently.  When I join a spin class, I'm there to work.  I'm there to sweat.  I'm there to get my adrenaline pumping and to burn the calories of the lunch time hoagie. I'm focused.  I'm determined.  I'm working out. However, when Steve the Spin Douche shows up, I contemplate leaving.

If you think you might be a spin douche, in some form or variation, please stop and think about how you are ruining the day of your captive audience.  And know that you might be the victim of a begrudging blogger with some time and knowledge of the English language.

xoxo,
ShavedGolf